Closed Doors and Open Curtains
by opheliahamlet
Summary: Clara Oswald does not do relationships. But then, neither does her neighbour. ( AU The Doctor and Clara are neighbours and start regular sessions of mutual voyeurism )
1. Chapter 1

_Hi ! This is a first dive into writing for Doctor Who. I hope you'll like it. Please leave a review, whatever you may think of the story. xx Callie._

_I own nothing, the DW characters belong to the BBC._

_ **Closed doors and open curtains**_

Chapter One:

She opens the door and steps inside the room, unsure of what to do and what to say. She shouldn't be here, staring at the darkness, breathing in and out her fear of the unknown.

Clara is a waitress in a London night-club. She works late, listening to rock and techno resonating from the dance-floor, while mixing fluorescent liquids containing more alcohol than she's allowed to say, and serving them to a youthful crowd gleefully decadent. She appreciates the show in front of her. Young and healthy bodies, half naked and half drunk, swaying hips and crushing lips.

Wandering hands lose themselves under tight top tanks and tighter skirts. Warmth and sweat are emanating these moving bodies, gravity pulling. It's a trance, addictive and contagious, with no cure but the sunlight. Night is a catalyst.

Clara has never been more aroused in her whole life. She sees, feels this sexual energy without having to be part of it. Behind the bar, she knows herself protected by a physical and metaphorical barrier. She's part of the décor, a well-oiled gear of a much bigger and darker mechanism, ever growing and ever improving. An order, a fiver, a glass filled and sometimes, a suggestive look, a wink, a thank you, a brush of the hand and the next customer is already talking to her. She is the face they recognize then forget as soon as she's served them. Clara feels privileged.

Even though the night club is not the best you can find in Central London (and expensive as s***).

She knows she's under paid, exploited by her boss who probably doesn't know her last name and ignored by her colleagues who do not care to bound with virtual strangers. Clara couldn't have found a better place to work at, the environment is perfect for her: the safety of the bar, the job's anonymity and a prime spot to observe London's decadence.

She works six hours per day, four nights a week from 10pm to 4am. She exits the night-club completely knackered every night, her mind in a secondary state, too full of deafening sounds and flashing lights.

The tube's not yet operating at this early hour so her boss, who is not a heartless bastard, pays for her cab. 10 minutes later, she is in front of her door, hands fumbling in her bag in search of her keys. The same bag gets thrown away as soon as she's inside, so are her shoes, before collapsing on her bed, clothes and make-up still on, and crashing into sleep, numb and delighted.

Later in the day, her alarm clock goes off. It's 10 AM, and Clara starts a new day.

Clara lives in a nice flat in South Kensington thanks to her friend Nina who let her rent it from her for a ridiculously low price while she's away saving the world in Africa. It's a one bedroom/one bathroom (a shower AND a bath, please) on the last floor of a newly renovated Georgian building with access to a private terrace on the roof.

Clara prefers to live alone for the very good reason that she is unable to share her intimacy with another person. Clara is not afraid of other people (and the taekwondo class she's taking is not proof of the contrary. She is _only _5'2 and working night shifts). She takes the tube every day, goes to the public library to work on her thesis, goes to work in an over-crowded night-club four times a week and goes home, in the silence and the solitude of her flat.

But Clara is afraid that other people might ask too much of her. Never in 24 years has she found herself naked with another person in the same room. She's far too clever to let that happen. She feels powerless so close to a naked body (the few times it happened, she was fully-clothed and decidedly _not_ in her natural element) and she runs each time a relationship becomes too serious.

She could live a perfectly healthy life (sex toys _are _a wonderful invention) if she hadn't accidentally discovered, because of badly drawn curtains and a very prying neighbour of hers, that she enjoys to expose her naked self to the scrutiny of strangers. And that she wasn't completely against some reciprocity. In the end, she understood that it was all about control.

She is 24 and she swears that never again will she let Jeremiah Perowne come next to her again unless he wants all the bones in his hand (and his nose) to be broken one by one. She agrees that going out for a drink with him wasn't her best idea. But he had been nice to her when she had needed help for her History exam and he'd never attempted anything like the stunt he pulled on her just an hour ago.

They were sitting at the bar, sipping colourful cocktails to celebrate the end of their exam period when she felt his hand on her knee, slowly making its way up her thigh and his nose breathing down her neck.

"You turn me on, Oswald. Let's get out of here."

She spills her drink on him, grabs her bag and slaps him hard across the face. He is so stunned that he forgets how to speak for a few seconds and she doesn't want to stick around for an insult or an apology. So she leaves the establishment and hails a cab. She can't stop shaking.

In retrospective, she knows she was probably too harsh on Jeremiah but her body simply took over her mind, like an over-zealous defence mechanism with no turn-off button. Jeremiah will text her eight times that night. The first seven are all apologies and begs of second chances. She feels positively awful. The eighth one is an insult. She blocks him and directly heads for the shower, too eager to wash off his scent that seems to be sticking to her like a disease. She scrubs herself five times over, using all of her scented soaps and shampoos. She exits the bathroom exhausted, her towel wrapped tightly over her dripping body. She sits in her favourite armchair, facing the window. She falls asleep a few minutes later, forgetting that her curtains are only half-drawn and that the light is still on. The towel falls off from her chest soon afterwards.

At first, she just notices that the lamp still on and the odd sensation of freshness on her chest. Once her eyes are accustomed to the vivid light and her mind registered where she is, she finally notices the curtains. Or rather, the space between them. And also her neighbour, from the house in front of hers, looking intently in her direction, while sitting cross-legged in his armchair, smirking – and completely naked.

The thing about her street is that it's not really a street. It's an alleyway too narrow to allow any large vehicle to circulate in it. So the privacy of one's home is really all about curtains and lighting. Like her lamp still on and her curtains half-open permitting her next door neighbour to enjoy an incredible view on her uncovered breasts.

Suddenly, she can't move a muscle. Aware that she is sitting so awkwardly in her chair that any attempt of covering more of her body with the towel will probably have the opposite effect. Her neighbour (she doesn't know his name, has never met him before, which is not really surprising considering the hours she works) is a relatively young man with a bit of a chin and a big flop of dark hair. He is rather handsome, if you give it some time. In any other situation, she'd understand his assurance concerning his nakedness. But right now, Clara is not in the mood to philosopher and Chinboy doesn't seem to be very concerned by her predicament or even his voyeurism being discovered. If anything, she'd swear his grin has widened (it's really early, the clock on the wall indicates a quarter to six, so she can't be sure.)

A rush of anger overtakes her and the desire of teaching him a lesson becomes stronger by the minute. Which is when she discovers that she feels no shame or no horror at her situation. The realisation dawns on her. For the first time since puberty, her being naked in front of somebody, a stranger even, does not alarm her in the slightest.

She is in complete control of her emotions and the urge to flee she felt last night or so many times before has completely vanished. Actually, it's not true. It hasn't just vanished. It's just not been there to begin with.

So she does the most amazing thing.

She gets up, the towel falling at her feet, gloriously naked and smiles right back at him.

He seems to falter a bit and she guesses it's probably a good thing he is sitting. She waits five seconds, making sure he takes her all in and then reaches for the curtains, drawing them to a close.

Aloud she says "I'm the boss".

She heads for the bedroom and doesn't bother to put something on before slipping into the sheets.

She didn't really mean for "the incident", as she called it, to be part of a string of others "incidents". She swears the following morning that whatever happened with ChinBoy, it would not have an impact on her life. That she would continue to go on with her life as if nothing had changed. Well, they always told her she was a bad liar.

To be fair, it's not all her fault. Her days had become longer while waiting for her exam results and she was idly looking at the university website, browsing for some information on a future doctorate's degree she wanted to take. She already had a good idea on what she wanted to work on. If she could get her Master's degree in Children's Psychology, the next step would be an in-depth analysis of the evaluation of school's environment on the child's development. In a few words, she had the will to go further but not yet the means for it.

Which is why she was bored out of her mind and therefore, willing to do almost anything to kill the time. And working part-time in a nightclub wasn't cutting it.

At first, she thought she could use the opportunity of all this free time to catch up on some reading, see some friends, go to the movies, anything studies usually got in the way of. After a week, she couldn't see a book without wanting to throw it out of the window. Her friends were still telling the same old stories and the movies were more than disappointing. She then tried to remember the last time she hadn't been bored, just to see if it would spring up some new ideas and her mind mechanically turned to the window. And this is when things went from odd to completely bonkers.

She was shopping with her friend Donna who was actively talking of her last boyfriend's ( Donald or Damian ) blunder at her parent's house when she spotted him in the children's department, wearing the store uniform and amusing some kids with a remote-controlled helicopter. Big floppy hair, unmistakable chin and a seriously outdated bowtie.

Her initial reaction was to hide and carefully make her way out of the mall, hoping that Donna would follow without too many questions. An idea that would have worked perfectly well if said friend hadn't been looking in the same direction, and forcibly dragged Clara by the arm past Chinboy and the giggling children:

"Oh Clara, come! I need your help to choose a present for my niece that doesn't scream "future beauty queen" or "Brat-to-be""

You had to give to Donna, she knew how to make an entrance, even in the kid's department.

Clara's luck being what it was, he recognized her instantly, blushing furiously and crashing he helicopter into one of the book shelves. That was it, he was going to come and talk to her and she would have to move out from Nina's wonderful apartment.

However, no such thing happened.

Instead of shaming her in front of an unsuspicious Donna, he turned from her and went the other way, hastily informing his manager that he was taking his 10 minutes break, before disappearing behind the doors of the elevator, never glancing at her.

She was dumbfounded at his flight for a few seconds before understanding that he probably didn't want to make a scene at his job. After all, she was a stranger to him and even he was the one that instigated the "incident", he had the right to his privacy. And there was also the possibility that he just didn't want to talk to her. Which she could also understand, if she were to compare her own behaviour from a few minutes ago.

Not really pleased by that last hypothesis, she tried to forget what just transpired and hurried Donna to choose something before taking the elevator towards women's wear.

After ten minutes spent in women's wear, Clara finally caught up with her breathing and the blissfully ignorant Donna had provided the distraction she sorely needed: gossip at the office. And because Donna could do three things at the same time, she continued to talk while changing herself in one of the cabin rooms (she spotted a red dress she simply _had to _try on) and allowed Clara some time to think for herself.

She had been stupid not to consider that an encounter might have happened. And even more so since he was her neighbour. She had been bound to run into him and she was now certain it would not be the last time it would occur.

She had to devise a plan of action, some kind of strategy to avoid further accidental meetings.

She could not move and she would not move. That was definitely not on the table.

He probably wouldn't either. As embarrassed as he was a few minutes ago, he had also been very assured that early morning in front of the window. He was a bit of a pervert (ok, a lot) but Clara still couldn't shake that intoxicating feeling of power and overcoming sensuality she had experienced that day. She still shivered at the thought of it and she had come several time, her fingers frantically working down her body and deep inside her, the image of his face, surprised but aroused, when she had got up like Venus born from the sea foam, gloriously naked and unashamed.

She could hardly imagine what he must have thought of her in that instant, revealing herself as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She still questioned his motives. Was he trying to frighten her? If his earlier reaction was any indication, she'd say no. He seemed shier in real life, far more than in the safety of his apartment. But then, wasn't it the description of most unadapted people (she refused to re-use the P-word. It seemed inappropriate and conceited) when it came to society?

No, she shook her head. She couldn't see him like that. The furious blushing had touched her, somehow. She decided that he was probably looking for someone to understand him rather than to judge him. So how was she going to remedy to the situation? She could not just wait around for another disastrous encounter to happen. And the thought of just knocking on his door frightened her. Not that she was afraid of him. But she feared that it would ruin the memory of whatever transpired between them, break the spell if she were to talk to him face to face. And she did not want to let it go without a fight.

That's when it caught her eye.

Just on the floor, discarded by a former customer, was a rather interesting set of undergarments. She picked it up to take a closer look. It was black and unassuming and also far more attractive than anything she'd ever possessed. She had never been one for beautiful lingerie. She never saw the necessity of owning something that would never be glanced upon by someone else than her and the cashier. Also, she was against torturing her body into complicated, unpractical underwear. However, looking at the garments in her hands, feeling the soft fabric under her fingertips, an idea sprang in her mind.

Quickly, she told Donna she was going to be in the next cabin, trying on a dress she'd just seen. Donna, unaffected by her friend's words, went on with her one-sided discussion.

Clara disrobed completely and tried the underwear on. A perfect match. She looked amazing. Breath-taking even, all modesty forgotten.

(She really was not. Modest.)

Suddenly, a familiar heat rose in her low belly and her reflection began to look flushed. It was too good an opportunity to let go and-

The curtain behind her opened in one sharp movement, letting a smirking Donna appear while Clara quickly grabbed her dress to hide behind.

"Donna!"

"A dress you said? Well, that's not exactly what I'd wear to go to work but then I suppose I haven't been in a nightclub in ages. "

"Yes, well, it's not what you think. I was just curious to see how it'd look. It's not like I'm going to buy it or to wear it. I mean, it's not my style at all and-"

"Stop right there, young lady. I'm not judging you or anything. I'm just amused and frankly appalled you'd think you could fool me. I knew something was up as soon as I heard your "unassuming voice" (She mimed the brackets). Darling, you really need to work on your lying, it's far too obvious for your own good. "

"But I…"

"Tut tut! Look at you, you're gorgeous and there's no reason to be ashamed. Why shouldn't you feel good in your own body? Buy it! Treat yourself to something nice. You deserve it. You've been working your ass off on this master's degree and I know you're going to pass it with flying colours. The Clara Oswald I know wouldn't let it happen any other way."

Clara was looking at herself, her reflection telling her a new story about her body. She had known that she was pretty, charming even. But what she was seeing in the mirror was far more than that. She found herself smiling.

"Thanks Donna. I'll take it. Now, get out of my cabin before anyone accuses us of stealing or something."

"Or something…"

Donna winked and drew the curtain.

She glanced one last time at the flattering image in front of her and laughed. Clara Oswald was on the war path.

Once she got back home, she had a fully formed plan ready to be put in action. Quickly, she went to her room and searched through her belongings. Two minutes later, she finally found what she was looking for: a Polaroid.

An hour after that, she sealed an envelope, full of photographs and an invitation to look at the window around midnight. It was her way to say sorry. He could either accept the apology and show up or remain silent and keep the pictures. She had made sure her face was cut out of the frame so that he wouldn't have anything incriminating on her if he chose to publish them but somehow, she knew he wouldn't. Now, all she had to do, was wait and hope.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi everyone ! Here's the second chapter, sorry it took a bit long but the process to write this story is unusual... Anyway, as you'll see I've chosen the Latimers instead of the Maitland for Clara's former au pair family, you'll understand why as you read it but just so know, it's definitely on purpose. Also, I'm not exactly well versed in writing smut so bear with me. It's a bit short in this chapter but then, thier interactions are limited. It will get steamier as they get to know each other better, I promise. Anyway, enjoy this chapter._

_Love, Callie._

_Ps : Thank you to everyone who has favorited/followed/reviewed this story. You don't know how much it helps me write to see that the story is appreciated. Keep it going ;)_

Chapter two :

Clara is a lovely young woman. Nice legs ( if a bit short ), slender with some beautiful curves. Her face is gracious and she likes that she decided to let her hair grow a little longer this year, it compliments her brown eyes that she used to find a bit dull.

Her high school years were a nightmare when confronted to the bubbling hormones of promiscuous teenagers. Destabilised by the faintest corporal contact, repelled by the unmasked advances of some boys and disgusted by unwanted tongues trying to force their way through her teeth, Clara still managed to maintain the mask of impassivity and indifference. Which, of course, was more arousing to brainless boys than discouraging.

So, in order to protect herself, she started to hide behind large, unflattering clothes and buy fake glasses that she would only put on at school, as to not alarm her father. The specs would hide her face without complimenting it. In the space of a few weeks, she had mastered the art of invisibility. It took some better acting on her part but soon, the boys turned their eyes away from her to look at the other girls, far more willing to display their womanly attributes than she was.

After spending a few years avoiding anyone's radar, she took her A-levels and went to university, forgetting her fake glasses and her oversized jumpers behind her as she left high school. The return of her normal clothing made a newfound freedom rhyme with revelation. In the streets, university corridors and shops, she hardly went unnoticed but at last, she wasn't alarmed by the attention anymore. The last years had permitted her to develop several defence mechanisms that kept unwanted admirers at bay and she could finally enjoy her university days without so much as a worry.

She had left her childhood home and lived in a nice family house in Crouch End before moving to South Kensington. London made her the most unusual gift after having spent most of her years in a little town : the anonymity of large crowds.

Working as a waitress didn't become a necessity until she completed her Bachelor in English literature. Before that, she used to be a nanny, for the Latimers. She stayed three years with them, helping a clueless father get to know his clever children. They had lost their mother when they were really young and the Captain- due to his various missions in the Middle East- hadn't been around long enough to develop any parental instinct.

Clara liked to think her presence made a difference. She was needed and she did her job well, alternating university and house chores far more gracefully than she originally thought possible. Capt. Latimer had been grateful of her arrival, even if a bit confused on how to behave around a young woman at first.

Not that he had been inappropriate. She liked to think of him as a gentleman, a rare breed amongst men, even if a bit clueless and outdated in some areas. He had only touched her once, at her second Christmas with them. It was nearly midnight, she was helping putting the gifts under the tree after the children had gone to bed and he decided to give hers right away. It was a beautiful leather bounded notebook : "to write all your thoughts in" he had said.

What followed was partly her fault: she had forgotten herself a bit, the wine at dinner helping, and she had thrust her arms around his neck, immensely grateful and a bit tipsy. She felt his arms come around her waist and the most feverish kiss between her neck and her shoulders.

She had shivered and stiffened involuntarily, and as if the spell of Christmas and alcohol had lost their effect on both of them, he took a step back, furiously blushing and almost stuttered.

" I profoundly apologizes, Ms. Oswald. I'm not myself tonight. It won't happen again, I promise."

He went directly upstairs, to his room, and Clara reflected alone and a bit thrown, that it was the first time since her first week with them that he had used her last name while addressing her. She also reflected on the embrace, later that night, and thought that, maybe, she didn't mind the kiss so much, even if she wasn't really keen on repeating it with Capt. Latimer.

The next day, all was forgotten. The next week, he finally met Lorna, who was to become the second Mrs. Latimer a few days before her third and last Christmas with them.

After leaving the Latimers and moving in Nina's life-saving apartment, Clara had taken up waitressing through one of her university classmate who knew a barmaid at the club.

Clara had just decided that English literature, as much as she loved it, wasn't what she was meant to do with her life. Working with children was and she moved heaven and earth to get accepted in a Master of Children Psychology. She took up more courses than any other student and worked harder than ever before to catch up with her gaps in knowledge.

Which is why she put a halt into discovering just how far she was ready to go with someone else and was left to imagine what could happen each time a man ( or a woman, sometimes) winked at her from their side of the counter.

Sitting in her armchair - naked and worried of having her offer being rejected - she mulled over the past years and truly believed that whatever she was doing with her neighbour (or rather, about to do again, if she had played her cards well), was her chance to explore her own sexuality.

She had been afraid long enough, not wanting to let anyone have their chance with her. She was conscious that this was a rather unorthodox first dive into "it", but then, she was hardly normal herself.

She looked at the clock on the wall beside her : 11:58. She could not stop biting her nails and she scolded herself from not painting them earlier.

11:59, she was a ball of nerves, suddenly hyper-aware of her own body. Should she have shaved herself completely ? She shook her head. She was a woman, not a porn star ( although, it could be argued). She still had the black underwear on, just in case he was a no show or worse, still clothed and unwilling to go further.

Midnight. She got up, took a deep breath and… pulled the curtains open. What she observed across the road destabilised her completely: she saw nothing.

She looked a bit more closely, trying to see through the darkness of his apartment. Maybe she should open the window ?

She was about to do it when the light came on. She took a step back and he was there, sitting in his armchair, crossed legged and very, very naked. She blushed, waved (_ why did you do that ? _) and sat as well.

She smiled at him, nervous and not sure of what to do next. If she was honest, she hadn't really thought it through after the opening of curtains. She just assumed he would be there and that it would come naturally. She relied on him to guide her to do what was necessary. Maybe she should have asked for his number.

And as if on cue, he took a large white cardboard resting on the floor beside him and showed it to her. On it was a phone number. Quickly, she got up while she reprimanded herself for not thinking about it earlier. Of course, he would want to speak with her. Which was fine by her. She had questions to ask him.

She finally found her phone at the bottom of her handbag and returned as quickly as possible. She dialled his number in front of him and he picked up immediately. She put him on speaker and laid down the phone on the table just next to her. His voice resonated in her flat and nearly made her jump.

" Hello, I'm the Doctor. What's your name ?"

She let a nervous laugh escape her. " And I'm supposed to call you that ? A bit pretentious isn't it ? I'm Clara. No title."

He chuckled " Well, I happen to think it's a bit sexy as well. And yes, I'd like you to use it, please. Hello, Clara. Nice to finally make your acquaintance."

She is transfixed by his voice and his demeanour. He seems completely at ease with himself and his voice betrays a confidence and a hint of pride he didn't seem to have back at the shop. She likes the way he talks, she decides. A low, hypnotic voice, throaty and warm, like butter on a burning toast. Like his tongue on her feverish body…

"Nice to finally make yours. Even if I wasn't aware of it until that last morning. Do you often introduce yourself to your neighbours that way ? Naked and unapologetic ?"

It's his turn to laugh. " No, it's just you. And I have noticed you a long time ago. When you moved in actually. I hope it's not creepy but you completely won me over that day. You were wearing a small red dress and your hair was tied in a bun and you looked absolutely charming. I couldn't wait to meet you."

She fidgets in her armchair. " That was almost two years ago. I'm not even sure I still have that dress anymore. Why didn't you say something ?"

He stays silent for over a minute. If she hadn't been directly looking at him, she could have sworn he had left. But he is still there, seemingly unsure of what to say or how to formulate his thought. At last, she hears him again :

" I am not… I do not make the first move in relationship with women I find attractive. It's difficult for me to speak to them. I'm a bit of a recluse when it comes to the others. I'm sorry if I'm not very clear… I don't speak about it often."

She feels for him. She regrets her earliest thoughts of him, thinking he might be getting off on scaring young women (he probably did a bit but she can see there's more to it than meet the eye.). She clearly sees he just needs company.

" I understand perfectly. I've never been one for relationship myself. I always thought I'd end up alone. Is it just women or is it everyone ?"

She unwantedly looks down and remembers she is wearing nothing but her underwear and tries not to smile at her situation. Here she is, making conversation to a total stranger, wearing next to nothing while he is completely naked. Her hobbies are definitely not conventional. And right this minute, she wouldn't change one single thing.

" It used to be everyone but I got better and now, it's just when it has to do with intimacy. I don't have a lot of friends either. And you ? You don't seem like the usual girl either. Most people wouldn't send so pretty pictures after an encounter like ours. Thank you by the way. You look… incredible."

She shivers and a familiar heat makes its way down her spine and into her lower belly. " I don't do very well with intimacy either. I am not used to being touched. I haven't liked it very much so far. Except once. But it was a mistake. And you're welcome."

" Maybe you haven't found the right person yet. Do you think you could support being touched one day ? Or even take pleasure in being touched ?"

His voice has dropped an octave and she is most definitely wet. When has it become so warm in here ?

" I think I could definitely take pleasure in it. If it has happened once already, why not twice ? But it's not something I would rush. I would only run away."

He smiles and she knows he got what he wanted : a promise to try. With him.

" I will be patient then. Not that I was planning on rushing things myself. I think we suffer from the same fear. Do you trust me, Clara ?"

She nods instantly and she is not sure when it came from. But for the life of her, she does trust him.

" I do. I'm not sure why. Can I really trust you ?"

He doesn't skip a beat.

" You can. As long as you're with me, you don't have to be afraid. I hope you can return the favour." "You can." "Good."

They smile at each other, conscious of having reached a turning point in their relationship. And as if to seal their relationship, Clara takes the wheel and gets up before discarding her bra on the floor. She hears him stop breathing for few seconds. He can't take his eyes off her.

" Do you like what you see ?" This is a genuine question. She knows she is not repulsive or anything near it, but she never really had a second opinion either.

" Very much. I think you look beautiful. Your breasts look perfect, Clara. I'm sure they feel heavenly as well. Why don't you touch them for me ? I would very much like to see you pleasure yourself."

She shakes a bit but that's not fear. It's excitement and she recalls being in her bed the night before last, trying to reach climax and failing. She knows she won't fail tonight.

She raises her hands and caresses her hips and her belly before reaching her breasts and it's her turn to stop breathing for a few seconds. She looks at him looking at her, never taking his eyes off her hands and she feels her knickers getting wet and slightly uncomfortable. But she won't stop and she continues to massage her breasts and pinching the tip. She moans and he immediately reciprocates and she swears, it's the most erotic sound in the world.

He finally uncrosses his legs and at last, she can admire him entirely. He is fully erect and has nothing to be ashamed of ( if the internet is anything to go by). He starts stroking himself at a slow pace and she wants to lower her hands as well.

"Are you wet, Clara ? I can tell you are by the way you squeeze your legs together. Don't you want to do something about it ?"

She does. God, she does, and it's driving her crazy. So she takes hold of her knickers- completely soaked by now- with her two hands, and let them fall down her legs. " Oh god, Clara, it bears repeating, you're perfect. Touch yourself, I'm begging you."

She knows she won't be able to stay up much longer so she steps backward to the armchair and let herself fall down before spreading her legs, putting each of them on one of the armrests as to give him maximum exposure. All her inhibitions have left her and the only thing that matters is her pleasure and his. His moans have increased considerably and never cease to make her shudder. She almost cries with relief when her fingers finally reaches her clit. She starts rubbing herself and almost come on the spot but she stops herself, not wanting to put an end at their session quite yet. She wants to see him come before her. She wants to know what she can do to a man before reciprocating.

" Are you close, Doctor ? Do you want to come ?"

He has difficulties speaking, she can tell. His eyes are fixed on her fingers, his hand moving fast up and down his shaft. He is almost there.

" I think… I won't… last… very much…longer, Clara." "Come now, Doctor." She puts her fingers inside herself and she hears him cry of relief and she knows she has succeeded. For the first time in her life, Clara Oswald has made a man come with pleasure and that revelation achieves her own climax. She shouts, loud and clear, her eyes tightly shut, and it's the most incredible feeling. She is spent on her armchair, sweating and breathing heavily, her legs still wide open. She has no wish to close them just yet. She just want to enjoy the amazing feeling coursing through her veins and the knowledge that the Doctor is still looking at her, even if she can't see him, her eyes still closed, trying to catch her breath.

After a minute or two, the silence reigns again in her flat and his and she decides to open her eyes again. He is still there, looking at her as if she had given him the world. And maybe she has, so she smiles, proud of herself. She evens laughs, gleeful and on top of the universe. That man has offered her space and time when her life has been filled with bare contentment and the feeling of unfulfilled desire. She can't help but be grateful. She tells him so.

" Oh no, it's me who is grateful, Clara. You have been nothing short of incredible. I'm not sure there are enough languages in the world to describe what you've done to me. I'm not sure I will be ever able to repay you what you've given me. Thank you, Clara."

She feels uninvited tears behind her eyelids and she didn't know one could be so happy. In a way, she has finally lost her virginity and she's on cloud nine.

" I don't need you to repay me. But surely, we can do it another time, what do you say ?"

He smiles and it's like she's just seen the sun rise in the middle of the night.

" I would love to."

Her heart starts racing once again and she tries to will herself not to let it show too much.

" What about same time next week ? I'll be working at the club and seeing some friends the other nights so I prefer to wait a bit. Is that okay with you ?" " Actually that's perfect. I'm going to be out of town until next Monday and I'm not sure to be there on Tuesday either. So next Wednesday is perfect. I can't wait."

"I can't wait either. Good night, Doctor. Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams, Clara." The light goes out in both flats. Clara leaves the living room and puts on her dressing gown before going to bed. She falls asleep almost right away. In the other flat, the Doctor stays awake an hour longer, dreaming awake of exploding stars and his hands running up and down Clara's body while she writhes under his touch, asking for more.

Next Wednesday cannot come fast enough and sleep takes him as well.


End file.
